Chapter 4 In Between Notes

Music was the only thing that made sense.

Elena sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, old headphones pressed over her ears, sketchpad resting on her thighs. Pencil in hand, she let herself drift. Not in thought, but in sensation. Soft bass thumped against her ribs, lyrics she'd memorized long ago filling the silence.

She needed the noise.

Because silence meant thinking, and thinking meant him.

Zayne.

It had been three days since she last saw him. Three days of tension she couldn't name. And yet, every time her phone buzzed, her pulse raced. Every time a shadow passed too close, her breath caught.

She told herself the quiet was good. That distance was safe.

But safety was boring.

And she hadn't felt bored since the first time he said her name.

Ava found her on campus later that day, sitting under the tree near the music building.

"You ditching class or hiding?"

"Neither."

"You're sketching Zayne again, aren't you?"

Elena didn't answer.

Ava dropped her bag with a sigh. "He's the kind of guy that makes you feel like the center of the universe... until you realize you were just orbiting something colder."

"Why does it sound like you're speaking from experience?"

Ava looked away. "Because girls like us fall for pretty lies."

There was a beat of silence.

Then: "He gave me a playlist once," Ava said. "It wasn't just music. It was him-coded into lyrics, between the basslines. That's how he gets in your head."

Elena raised a brow. "You listened?"

"I still do. That's the sick part."

That evening, Elena found a flash drive in her locker.

No note. No name. Just a thin, black drive taped to the inside of her locker door.

She hesitated, heart already picking up speed.

Back at home, she plugged it into her laptop. The folder had one file.

"For when you can't breathe."

She clicked it.

Music filled the room-soft piano, slow tempo, haunting vocals layered with spoken-word samples. It wasn't romantic. It was intimate. Dark. Slow. Like a confession whispered in the back of her mind.

She lay back on the bed, headphones in, and let it play.

With every song, she felt like he was speaking to her through sound. Like he knew what her sadness looked like, what her silence felt like. The lyrics weren't just random-they were specific. Curated for someone unraveling. Someone like her.

At the end of the playlist was one final audio clip.

Not a song.

A voice.

His.

> "You ever feel like someone saw the version of you you've never even met?

Yeah... that's how you look when you forget anyone's watching."

Her skin prickled.

Then it ended.

No signature. No goodbye. Just that voice now echoing in the shadows of her room.

She didn't see him until Friday.

The campus was loud that day-music from someone's Bluetooth speaker, laughter echoing near the sculpture lawn. Elena was leaving the studio early when she saw him.

Zayne.

Sitting alone near the far wall, headphones in, notebook open.

She almost walked away.

Almost.

But he looked up.

And everything stopped.

"You found it," he said, not needing to explain.

"I did."

"What did you think?"

"That you know things you shouldn't."

He smiled faintly. "I notice. That's all."

"People don't notice me."

"They do. They just don't see."

She stepped closer.

Zayne closed the notebook and patted the spot beside him.

Elena sat.

They didn't speak for a long time.

The playlist still lived in her ears. She wondered if he could hear it in her silence. The part of her that was scared. The part that wanted him to break her walls, just to see if anything inside was still soft.

"Why do you do this?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Leave trails for girls to follow."

He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I don't leave trails. I send invitations."

"To what?"

"To ruin," he said simply. "But I never force anyone to RSVP."

She exhaled. "So this is a game?"

"No," he said, voice lower now. "Games are for people who want to win. I'm not here to win, Elena. I'm here to feel something."

She looked at him then-really looked.

And saw it.

The cracks.

Not big, not loud-but there. Just beneath the surface. Hints of something broken, something heavy. Something... real.

"Is this what feeling looks like to you?" she whispered.

Zayne leaned closer, his hand brushing hers-not a full touch, just enough to make her shiver.

"No," he murmured. "This is what it looks like when someone finally notices I feel anything at all."

Her throat tightened.

He looked at her like she was a moment he wanted to live in.

And then-

He kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Like a secret unfolding between them.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just right.

She didn't pull away.

Not until the world got too loud again and reminded them they didn't belong to it.

Back home, her hands were still shaking.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

Was this what falling looked like?

Or was this the part right before you got pushed?

Her phone buzzed.

Zayne: Still breathing?

Me: Barely.

Zayne: Good. That means it's real.